


Her Father's Daughter

by PageTurner29



Series: For the Love of an Irishman [2]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Coccham Crew Grown Up, Coming of Age, F/M, Family Dynamics, Gen, She has a warrior heart, The Next Generation, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PageTurner29/pseuds/PageTurner29
Summary: Órlaith (pronounced Or-lah), daughter of Finan and Eadith, has spent most of her childhood in Bebbanburg. Now, at 16, she yearns to follow in her father's footsteps and to see the England that those who raised her have spent their lives trying to establish. However, Scottish invasions from the North will threaten not only England, but life as Órlaith knows it.Note: In my head, this is an extension of my "Finding Each Other" fic. However, you by no means need to read it in order to follow Órlaith's story.Thank you for reading. Feedback is always welcome.
Relationships: Eadith/Finan (The Last Kingdom), Finan & Original Female Character
Series: For the Love of an Irishman [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989763
Comments: 29
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

“25,” I whispered to myself. “All you need is 25.” 

Like an owl settling into its nest, I curled myself into the space between the great yew tree’s limbs. Its canopy was dense, shielding me in cool shadows, despite the early autumn’s warm morning sun. 

I was playing a game that had been my favourite since childhood. I would sit somewhere out in nature and become completely still. Then, once I’d managed to slow my breathing, I would count the number of distinct noises I could hear around me. My record was 24, and despite months of trying, I had yet to beat it. 

I closed my eyes and slowly inhaled, smiling as the smell of sap and earth filled my lungs. Then I began to count on my fingers as the sounds filled my ears. 

_The morning breeze. The grass in the nearby meadow swishing in the wind. Birds- sparrows from the sound of it -in the tree canopy. Leaves rolling on the ground beneath me. A small animal, a squirrel perhaps, skittering through the forest’s brush. Yew needles falling softly to the ground below. The distant sound of the surf._

I continued in this way, listening and counting on my fingers. I had just gotten to nineteen when the crack of a twig caused my eyes to snap open. I did not move, forcing my breath to become more shallow. _Feet shuffling along the ground._ I was no longer alone in the forest and I did not know who else would venture this way. The footsteps were getting closer, and I debated whether to stay hidden or to make my presence known, when a voice that I would recognize anywhere called out. I could not stop the smile that sprang to my lips. 

“Órlaith!”

I could see him now. His dark hair, so similar to my own, could be seen between the yew branches. It was hard to tell from this height but he seemed taller than I had remembered him being the last time we had seen each other. He was thinner too - more muscle around his shoulders. I struggled to bite back a laugh as he passed directly beneath me, stopping only a few feet away from my hiding place. 

“I know you’re here somewhere, Órlaith! Osferth saw you head this way earlier. Aren’t we too old for hide and seek?” He was pretending to sound annoyed but I knew him too well. He loved this game more than I did. 

With carefully practiced movements I jumped, landing on both feet mere steps from where he stood. He spun around as he heard me hit the ground, his saex already drawn. His reflexes were as quick as my own, although I would never admit that to his face. He dropped the blade, however, the second our eyes met. 

“Shit, Órlaith!” Sten swore, his breath seeming to exit his body as his muscles relaxed in relief. I smiled up at him, proud of myself for having surprised him. The shock and anger on his face quickly evaporated and was replaced with a slightly embarrassed grin. 

“You should have seen your face!” I crowed triumphantly, while closing the small gap between us to envelop my oldest friend in a long hug. 

Sten hugged me back tightly and I was uncomfortably aware that he was much stronger than the last time I had seen him in the spring.

“What in the bloody hell were you doing up there?” he said as he pulled back to look at me. 

Picking his seax up from the ground, I handed it to him. “Playing the listening game,” I answered as I turned and started to lead us out of the wood and towards home. “I’ve been trying for months to break my own record.” 

Sten shook his head before giving me that smile that made his dimple appear in his left cheek. “You still play that game?”

“It was your father who taught it to me!” I answered defensively, although why his question bothered me I couldn’t quite pinpoint. We had both played it together for years before his father, Sihtric, had become Lord of Dunholm and his family had moved away. When Sten left, I lost my primary playmate, and the listening game was one of the few activities that I could play by myself.

“Oh, I know who taught it to you. And, your incredible talent for it is reason #237 why my father likes you better than he likes me!” 

“Well,” I said, grinning at him mischievously as we stepped from the edge of the trees into the mid-morning light, “what’s not to like?” 

Sten huffed a laugh and shook his head at me, pretending to be exasperated. However, his grin betrayed him, and I realized how much I had missed him all of these months. We typically spent most summers together. Yet, this year there had been so much kerfuffle over the Scottish raids to the north and the south that the summer had seemed to evaporate into scouting missions and talk of impending battle. 

“When did you arrive?” I asked, tipping my head towards the giant fort that loomed over us across the small valley. I had called Bebbanburg home for the last 10 years, yet its size never failed to impress me, just as it did now. 

“Late last night. You were already in bed, and up before I was this morning. Your mother asked me to find you so that you can help her prepare for tonight’s gathering. Aethelflaed and Aldhelm were arriving just as I left.”

I felt a pulse of excitement ripple through me at the mention of tonight’s feast. Bebbenburg was not often where the powers of Britain met, with more southerly strongholds typically making a more convenient location for most Lords and Ladies. However, the Scots were a distinct threat to Northumbria and one which threatened all of Britain - just as the Danes had once, not so long ago. Plans would be made tonight, and I was going to ensure that I heard them all. 

“Well then, let’s not keep them waiting,” I said, quickening my pace before adding, “besides, you could do with a change of clothes, I am sure.” 

Sten looked at me quizzically. I ensured that I was far enough ahead of him and out of striking distance before clarifying, “Well, I did just make you shit your pants - did I not?” 

“That’s it. I’m going ahead and telling them to shut the gates!” he called as he ran past me. I laughed and followed him, knowing that my chances of surpassing him were slim considering his legs were a good 6 inches longer than my own. Yet, that fact did not stop me from trying. 

I could not help but slow down, however, as we got closer to the gates. Villagers were bustling in and out, carrying with them foods, linens, or casks of ale. Bebbanburg hadn’t been this alive in many months and I was in awe of it. 

As we ran past the southern rampart I caught sight of Aethelstan above us. He glowered at the sight of Sten and I chasing each other, but I am sure that I saw a hint of a smirk as I waved at him. 

Aethelstan had never quite been a friend, being almost 10 years older than us. Yet, he had been a regular figure throughout our childhoods. Uhtred had spent years training him in the ways of the North and to be a warrior, taking the secret aetheling with him everywhere. Our own fathers, Sihtric and Finan, had also helped to train him and were father figures to him in their own right. Aethelstan had gained the respect of many of Uhtred’s men, and had even spent much of the last year running scouting missions in the farthest reaches of Northumbria. His return to Bebbanburg last night had been cause for much celebration. Uhtred and my father did not like to admit how much they worried for him, despite their faith in his skills. I was curious what role Aethelstan would play during the strategy planning sessions in the days ahead.

“There you are!” cried my mother happily as we ran into the fort’s inner yard. The sparkle in her eye and flush in her cheeks told me that she was just as excited about tonight’s feast as I was. Her copper hair, lightly streaked with silver, was pulled into a tight braid that ran down her back, which meant only one thing - her current mood was all business.

Uhtred had never married and as the wife of his right hand man, my mother had assumed most of the female duties that came with keeping Bebbanburg running. This explained why she was surrounded by trunks of linens and silverware. 

“Sten, can you help carry these into the dining hall, please?”

“Of course,” Sten quickly replied, giving my mother a quick kiss on the temple that made her smile. Our mothers had always been quite close, and when Ealhswith passed from the coughing sickness 5 years ago, Eadith had readily stepped in to provide Sten with all of the motherly love and support a young man could hope for. 

We both tried to suppress a laugh as we watched Sten attempt to carry two trunks at once into the hall. However, her attention quickly turned to me. 

“How high did you get today?” she asked, absentmindedly picking yew needles and a stray berry from the dark hair that flowed down my back. 

“Not far enough before I was interrupted.” I said, trying to sound exasperated, even though I was glad that she had sent Sten to find me. 

“You will have more attempts yet,” she said, wrapping her arm around my waist. “Come! I need help rearranging the dining hall. We have more guests than we expected.” 

“Add two more, my love,” called my father as he strode across the yard towards us. He gave us each a quick kiss on the forehead. He smelled of pine and sap, which told me that he must have been out chopping wood for the fires that would be needed to heat the halls that evening. 

“Sigtryggr and Stiorra just arrived,” he explained, sharing a look with my mother. The Danish warlord rarely left his lands to the south, which meant that this must be a meeting of great significance indeed. The small crease in my father’s brow told me that this worried him. 

“Our guests will be sitting on the floor, at this rate!” my mother said with an exasperated sigh. Something unspoken passed between her and my father; it was part of their own language, born out of years of being together, that so often infuriated me. He nodded his head and strode off to help with preparations elsewhere while my mother ushered me into the dining hall. 

Nothing, however, could dampen my spirits. Tonight, Bebbanburg would be the center of England and I would be there to witness it.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, there we were, all strung up like bleedin’ pigs! I felt myself passin’ out and Sihtric was nearly a goner!” recounted my father enthusiastically. 

Sihtric winced at the memory of this particular battle story and I noticed that Uhtred did not seem to remember it fondly either, judging by the scowl on his face. However, nothing could stop my father once he was in the midst of telling a tale. He was several jugs of ale in and Osbert had been foolish enough to ask Finan for his most harrowing experiences as a warrior.

I gave Sihtric a wink as I came to his end of the table and refilled his jug with ale. I offered Uhtred a sympathetic smile and gave his cup the same treatment. I intentionally ignored my father’s cup, for the moment. Uhtred gently grabbed my hand and pulled me back as I made to move off to other guests.

“Sit and eat,” he said, motioning his eyes to an empty seat across from Stiorra. “I brought in servants from the village to tend to our guests.”

It was true that I had spent most of the evening ensuring that plates and cups remained full, but I was enjoying it. I was feeding on every ounce of energy vibrating off the hall’s stone walls. 

“How else am I supposed to hear all the gossip?” I teased, giving Uhtred’s hand a squeeze. 

“Sit!” he persisted. Then, his eyes landed on my mother farther down the hall. She also had a jug in her hand and a smile on her face. “And convince your mother to do the same. She has been fluttering around for the past two hours. She should enjoy the fruits of her labour.” 

As if on cue, my mother strode towards us. She was a vision in her emerald dress, a gift from my father two years ago. I had noticed several sets of male eyes following her over the course of the evening. My father, the consummate storyteller, took her timely arrival to weave her into his tale. 

“And then, just as my vision was darkening, an angel appeared and cut us down.” He offered my mother a smirk and a wink before continuing, “she’d just taken on two Danes single handedly and she saved our skins with not a moment to spare.”

“I do not believe that angels take the lives of warriors,” my mother interjected quietly. Her cheeks were pink and she was clearly embarrassed at the attention. 

“They do in my world,” my father answered, undeterred as he took her hand in his own. 

“Eadith, sit and eat. Our guests are well cared for.” Uhtred said in a kind yet firm voice. “Órlaith, you as well,” he repeated, motioning again to an empty chair across from Stiorra. 

We both knew that arguing with him was futile so we set down our jugs and went to fill our plates. I had to admit that I had been salivating over the smell of the roasted boar all evening, and I had to remind myself that I should at least keep up the pretense of being a lady as I piled food onto my plate. 

“Lord Aethelwich will be seated beside you,” my mother whispered as we both grabbed a bread roll from a basket. “He is the commander of King Edward's armies,” she added, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. “He was asking about you earlier.”

“Mother,” I said through gritted teeth, “what are you suggesting?”

“Only that you speak with him. I’m sure he is quite interesting.”

I did not fall for my mother’s pretences for a moment and suddenly I felt enraged at the idea that she supposed I should spend the evening flirting with eligible bachelors. My mother knew me too well, though, and scurried off to sit by my father before I could voice my disapproval of her ambush. 

Begrudgingly, I took my seat next to Lord Aethelwich and introduced myself. He was indeed handsome and interesting, but I still felt my mother’s eyes on us and it was hard to concentrate on anything else but the feeling of being a fly caught in a trap. I had to admit that I did enjoy his stories of Winchester, a place which I had only been to once as a young girl. Soon, however, I found myself feeling like woefully inadequate company. A girl of 16 who had rarely been farther than a day’s ride from Bebbanburg could not compete with the experiences of a young warrior. 

I attempted to bring Stiorra and Sigtryggr into the conversation, but the Danish warlord was a man of few words and Stiorra seemed mentally preoccupied with something. I caught Sten’s gaze down the table and tried to silently summon him to my aid, but he just smiled and left me to my fate, choosing instead to listen to some story being told by Aldhem and Lady Aethelflaed. 

Finally, I dropped my charade and decided to engage the commander through the only thing that I felt we had in common. 

“I am training to be a warrior myself, my Lord,” I said, hesitantly

Lord Aethelwich turned to me with a bemused expression on his face. “Is that so?” he inquired gently. Something else was there that I couldn’t quite read, but I pressed onward.

“My father has been training me since I was 5. I am quite skilled with a sword and shield. I also make a decent scout,” I added, hoping that my bragging would not be seen as rude. 

“Do you consider yourself a warrior then?” Aethelwich asked with a chuckle. His tone had changed ever so slightly into something which left an acrid taste in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Stiorra turn towards us, her grey eyes watching intently. 

“Not yet,” I said tightly. “But, I have been raised amongst and trained by some of the greatest warriors this land has ever known - as your Lord King is aware.” I hoped that this last part would remind Aethelwich of the role my father and his sword brothers had played in Wessex’s history. However, Edward’s military commander did not seem chastened by my admonition.

“Of course,” Aethelwich said with a small smile as he patted my hand. I recoiled from his touch and placed my hand in my lap. 

I did not have to suffer the awkward silence that followed after for long before Uhtred stood at the head of the table. The hall quickly fell silent as all eyes turned to him. 

“Friends, thank you for joining me in my hall tonight. It has been too long since we have feasted together. I suggest that we soon begin discussing the business at hand, before Bebbanburg’s fine ale clouds our judgement.” This elicited a few chuckles and some murmurs of agreement. Everyone had enjoyed the feast but no one had forgotten the purpose behind this gathering. Once plates had been cleared, cups refilled, and bladders emptied, the night’s discussions would begin. 

“Are you alright?” Osferth asked quietly as I scooped up his plate and added more ale to his cup. I knew that he had been too far away to have heard my conversation with Lord Aethelwich, but Osferth knew me all too well. He’d spent years being my teacher and confidant and I’m sure he could read my expressions and body language better than my own mother. 

“Fine,” I said, offering him a warm smile. “Honest!” I added when he looked at me in disbelief as I walked away.

When all of the lords had returned and everyone seemed settled, Uhtred stood again and drew the crowd’s attention. 

“My Lords, we have all heard accounts of Scots landing on England’s shores. It is my hope that this meeting will allow us to compare what we know and create a plan of attack - for the safety of all our lands.” 

“Lord Uhtred!” interrupted Lord Aethlewich. He had claimed a new seat opposite of Lady Aethelflaed and I did not mourn the loss of his company. With a look around the room, he hesitated a moment before saying, “I notice that there are still several ladies present.” His eyes flickered to me before moving on to graze over Stiorra and my mother. “Would it not be better to keep this conversation amongst men and not trouble ladies’ ears with it?” He made a conciliatory gesture before turning to Aethelflaed and adding, “With the exception of the Lady of Mercia, of course.”

Aethelflaed inclined her head at him ever so slightly, but did not return his smile. 

Stiorra caught my eye across the table and grinned. We were both certain of what would come next. 

“What is your name?” Uhtred asked tersely. 

I bit my lip, knowing that Uhtred was fully aware of who this insolent lord was. 

“Lord Aethelwich - commander of the King’s armies,” he replied, drawing himself up to his full height, like a child trying to prove to his father that he had grown. 

“You may command the King’s armies, Lord Aethelwich, but you do not command who may sit in my hall. If the presence of ladies disturbs you, you are welcome to retire for the evening. One of my men will update you in the morning.”

A few chuckles could be heard up and down the table. Aethelwich gawked at Uhtred before turning his gaze briefly back to me. I tried my best to stare back at him coolly, but could not stop the smirk that touched my lips just before he broke eye contact. 

“As you wish,” Aethelwich said quietly, taking his seat. 

I looked back down the table and nodded my head in thanks at Uhtred. I could see the glint in his eye and knew that he had enjoyed that. My father had too, judging by the wink he gave me as he wrapped his arm around my mother.

As if to make a point, Lady Aethelflaed began the discussion. “Mercia has been tracking the Scots for some time. We ran a small band off our shores several weeks ago and I have had scouts combing the forests for others. My men have brought back evidence of what appears to be small camps of a half dozen or so men, but nothing large. I fear, however, that they are biding their time and testing our shores for points of weakness. A large scale attack seems inevitable.”

There were murmurs of agreement before other Lords shared similar stories. Uhtred spoke of his own scouts finding small camps throughout Northumbria. I noticed for the first time that evening that Aethlestan was not present at the feast. Perhaps Uhtred was keeping him hidden, not wanting to draw the attention of the kingdom to the King’s bastard son and arguably legitimate heir. However, I had no doubt that he was lurking somewhere, and I found myself searching for him in the shadows. It was Stiorra’s forceful voice that pulled me back to the talks at hand.

“The Danes in Eoferwic have warned of Scottish spies in their lands for months. No one was bothered by our reports then.” She turned to face Lord Aethelwich before adding, “Wessex told our messenger that it was a “Danish problem in Danish lands.” 

“What _is_ a Danish warrior doing here?” asked a rather rotund man sitting further down the table. I did not recognize him but I could guess from his dress that he too was from Wessex. 

“I am here to ensure that my people and land will be protected. Or, would you rather I strike a deal with the Scots to allow them to walk through my Danish lands to get to Mercia and Wessex?” Sigtryggr asked smoothly. 

This had his intended effect and the hall erupted into a half dozen simultaneous shouting matches. Uhtred tried for several moments to calm everyone, but it was not until he stood on the table itself that he was able to bring quiet back to the hall. 

“We have each had our chance to speak. It is clear that we all share a common enemy. Let us get some rest and approach the situation with clear heads tomorrow,” he commanded from his towering perch. His icy blue eyes challenged anyone present to defy him, but they found no takers. Despite the deepening lines in his face and the grey hair woven into braids around his head, Uhtred was still a more than formidable presence at any council. 

“Well, that went well,” my father jested later that evening, as those of us who were not considered guests huddled together around one of the hall's fires. 

“The Scots will attack just north of Eoforwic before the winter solstice. They will want to secure Northumbria by cutting off Bebbanburg and try to secure Eoforwic by force or negotiation. With Northumbria as a stronghold they can strengthen their forces over the winter and take Mercia in the spring,” Sigtryggr stated in a disarmingly matter of fact tone. 

“Why do you think that?” Osferth asked. 

“Because it is what I would do,” he answered simply, his lips curling into a sly grin. 

Uhtred and my father nodded in agreement with Sigtryggr, for his theory did make the most sense. With that realization came the weight of the danger we were all in. Our lands would be the first to be attacked. The battles I had spent my life hearing about had always been in far off places. Now, it seemed, they would be right at my doorstep, and I was not sure I was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for father-daughter bonding goodness!


	3. Chapter 3

Sten and I stood back to back, slowly circling, swords at the ready. Our opponents were two big brutes from Mercia. They were trained soldiers, to be sure, but their size made them overly confident. The moment that they walked into the training arena with those smug grins plastered on their faces, Sten and I knew we could beat them. 

“Do you want the one with the fish lips? Or the one with the nose that only a mother could love?” Sten asked, just loudly enough for the Mercians to hear. 

“Well, when you put it like that…” I lunged towards the oaf with the crooked nose, blocking his sword with my shield and pushing up, throwing him off balance and exposing under his arms. One quick tap with my wooden sword and he knew he’d been hit. I smiled sweetly at him as his expression turned from horror, to loathing, to disgust. 

An exasperated cry, followed by the chuckles of the men surrounding the field, told me that Sten had defeated the big lipped man with similar swiftness. 

There were a few polite claps at our victory, but mostly a chorus of grumbles and groans. 

I had been at the training field since dawn, determined to miss nothing. Each lord who had attended the feast had brought a contingent of men with them - and when they were not feasting there was little to keep them occupied but to train. It had been thrilling to watch experienced soldiers take each other on. I watched them like a hawk, memorizing every movement and aspect of their individual style. Most of the men were quite skilled and I revelled in the opportunity to learn from their experience - even though most did not acknowledge or even speak to me. I knew that I belonged there, even if they did not. And, eventually, I found I could no longer just watch. My fingers longed for the weight of a weapon in my hand. 

I had not won every match I’d been a part of over the last two hours, but I had won over half - which was half too many for the soldiers whose pride could not abide a female who knew her way around a sword and shield. Sten had joined me for the last few matches, but it was clear that although we worked well as a team, we could each hold our own. 

Lord Aethelwich had made an appearance at the edge of the field about an hour ago. He had watched for a while, and I cannot deny that my own pride would not let me lose a match in front of him. By the time he chose to slither away I had proven that I was not the type of lady who was neither seen nor heard, and that was all that mattered to me. 

As Sten and I turned around to congratulate each other, a voice called to us over the din of the crowd. 

“If you two are done besting the men of Wessex and Mercia, you are needed inside!” Aethelstan’s voice was flat and serious, almost bored in its intonation, but I caught a hint of a smile pass over his lips. More grumbles arose from the men around us and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes at their childish moaning.

Quickly, we hurried across the field to him. 

“You shouldn’t goad them,” I gently chastised as I fell into step beside him. 

Aethelstan’s smile broadened, “Ah, but it brings me joy, and you must enjoy life while you have it, Órlaith. Your father taught me that. Besides - I spoke the truth. You both did well today.” At this, he turned and gave Sten a nod. Aethelstan did not dole out compliments regularly, and both Sten and I blushed a little at his attention. 

He led us towards the inner stables but stopped short before reaching the door. “Happy Birthday, Órlaith,” he said simply, before giving me a small nod and walking away. 

In truth, I had forgotten the date completely with all of the excitement. I was even more surprised to walk into the stable and see my mare loaded with saddlebags and bed rolls. Osferth was brushing her withers with a bundle of hay and looked pleased at the shock on my face. 

“Happy Birthday, princess!” my father roared from behind an armful of horse blankets and a saddle. 

“Thank you,” I mumbled, still bewildered. “Surely, we aren’t going on our camping trip now?”

Every year since I was about five, my father and I had gone on a camping trip for my birthday. It was one last adventure before the warmth of fall gave way to the chill of the northern winter. I looked forward to it every year. I had assumed, however, that with all of the discussions going on at Bebbanburg and the debates over how to handle the Scots, it would not happen this year. 

“Does Uhtred not need you?” I asked my father as I took the blankets from his arms. 

“Nah! Most of the talks are done and guests are beginning to leave. We’ll only be gone a few days. If anything comes up, Osbert will be here to support him.” I raised an eyebrow at this which my father ignored, choosing instead to busy himself with saddling his horse.

Osbert, Uhtred’s third child and youngest son, had re-entered his father’s life several years ago. The two men did not often see eye to eye, and my father regularly acted as a mediator between them - creating bridges from father to son. After their last row over some decision regarding the running of Bebbanburg, which Osbert was to inherit, my mother had suggested that my father step back and let the two of them learn to work out their own differences. I wondered if my father was heeding that advice now. 

“Are you coming with us?” I asked Sten, noticing that he lingered by the doorway. In the early years of our trips, Sihtric and one or two of his children had joined - with Sten always accompanying us as he was my closest friend. Uhtred and Osferth had tagged along once too, and I remember feeling like I was heading out to battle with them. The last few years, however, had just been my father and I - which, in truth, I liked best.

That is why I could not share in the disappointment that washed over Sten’s face as he said, “No, Father says that I am behind in my studies. He wants me to take advantage of Osferth’s tutelage while I am in Bebbanburg.” 

“Your father wants what is best for you,” my father interjected, “even if it means getting lessons from the Baby Monk.” He winked at Sten as he said this.

As a younger child, Sten had always giggled when our fathers or Uhtred called Osferth “Baby Monk.” To our eyes, Osferth had already been an old man, thanks to him balding at a young age. As of late, though, I had found Osferth’s nickname to be tragic. During the winter of my twelfth year Osferth had been stricken with a severe bout of the sweating sickness. His body had been racked with fever for days and when the fever finally broke he had lost some of the mobility in his right arm and walking had pained him more than it had before. He had not ridden into battle with our fathers since that day. Instead, he had taken up tutoring many of the youth of Bebbanburg, myself included, and looking after the small Christian church in town.

“I will try not to take your lack of enthusiasm personally,” Osferth teased as he shuffled around my horse and gave Sten a good natured smack on the arm. Turning to me, he gave me a quick hug and kiss on the forehead. 

“Have fun. Keep your father out of trouble,” he whispered, before shuffling towards the door. “Sten, let’s start your torture right away, shall we?” he added, with an innocent grin that I knew too well.

Sten let out a small groan before wrapping his long arms around me. “Happy Birthday!” he mumbled into my hair. “I will try not to die of boredom before you get back.”

“I have never killed a man with boredom before, but I am happy to try,” called Osferth through the open stable door. 

My father and I laughed, and I shoved a pouting Sten towards his doom. 

“Shall we?” my father asked, holding my horse’s reins towards me. 

**  
We rode south for the rest of the day. My father knew how much I loved the sight of the cliffs that gave way to beaches and rolling waves, so we stuck closely to the coastline. In truth, he loved it too. He often said how much it reminded him of his homeland. 

We made camp in a dense forest just before nightfall. We had barely cleared away the brush and made a fire before darkness enveloped us. With no time to hunt, as we usually did, I was glad for the provisions that my mother had packed. 

Carefully, I laid out the salted pork, bread, and dried fruits by the fire. I smiled at the small jar of honey that had been tucked into my saddlebag; my mother knew how much I loved it. When I looked up from my meal preparations I was surprised to see my father standing by the edge of the fire. He held a long bundle wrapped carefully in linen and tied with a ribbon. 

“Happy Birthday, Princess,” he said softly, holding it out to me. 

I didn’t typically get gifts for my birthday, so this was unusual. Feeling self-conscious I gingerly reached for the package. The moment that I felt its weight in my hands, I knew what it was and my tentativeness transformed into sheer joy. It took everything within me not to shred the fabric and tear the ribbon. 

When I finally freed the sword from its confines, I found myself unable to do anything but stare at it for several long moments. 

“It’s… are you sure....is it mine?” I finally managed. 

“Well, it is no one else’s,” my father chuckled. “Do you like it?” he asked more quietly. 

I do not think anyone could hold the sword that was in my trembling hands and not like it. Its grip was made of chestnut coloured leather. The pommel looked to be made of bronze with a delicate filigree of swirls and waves carved into it. Taking a deep breath, I drew the sword from its scabbard. It’s blade shimmered in the firelight. I felt as though a limb that I had not known had been missing had been returned to me. I felt whole. 

I looked at my father and saw unmistakable pride in his deep brown eyes, which made tears well in my own.

Carefully sheathing the sword again, I leapt into his arms. “Thank you!” I cried, peppering his cheeks in kisses as he laughed. “I do not deserve it, but thank you!”

“You do deserve it, my love. Ya’ do.”

“She’s beautiful,” I breathed, stroking the pommel, letting my fingers get acquainted with the pattern carved there. 

“Your mother designed that bit,” my father said. “I worked with the blacksmith to get the weight and balance just right.”

A heaviness settled in my gut at the mention of my mother. Despite my joy moments earlier, I could not stop myself from sarcastically saying, “I’m surprised my mother wants me to have a sword at all after her antics the other night.”

My father sighed and sat down on a log we had pulled closer to the fire. “Her intentions were pure, Órlaith,” he said, not meeting my eye as he reached for bread and fruit.

“Her intentions are to marry me off! She practically threw me at Lord Aethelwich!” I said, with more emotion than was necessary. 

“Informing you of who you were sitting beside at dinner is not a betrothal. Encouraging you to talk to him because she thought you would share something in common is not throwing you at him either,” my father retorted, the exasperation bleeding through his typically patient voice. 

I should have taken a breath. I should have seen the logic in his words. But, the emotions that I had buried the other night came boiling to the surface and my words flew out before I could stop them. 

“He made it clear that we have nothing in common. In fact, he made it clear that he thinks very little of me at all! Mother will have to be more careful with her choice of suitors!” I spat. 

“He was not a suitor! And your mother was not trying to marry you away!” His voice, low but somehow sharp, cut through the night air. 

“Of all people…” he stopped and ran his hand through his greying beard. I watched as he let out a sigh, took a deep breath and continued, “We would _never_ force you into a marriage. I don’t even think marriage crossed her mind. Your mother simply thought that you might get along. And yes, a part of her hoped to see you smile in his company. She knows what it is to be suddenly left alone in this world with no family to care for you. We both do, and neither of us want you to experience that fate. So, while she may have been misguided in the direction that she nudged you in, I will not let you disparage her for wanting to see you happy.”

My father’s gaze bore into me from across the fire, and I felt my anger fizzle and die. 

The air between us was thick, so I was relieved when he held out a hand and motioned that I come sit closer to him. Like a child I scooted to his side and leaned my head against his leg. He absent mindedly smoothed my hair and quietly said, “I had to hold her back, Órlaith. When he dismissed the women in the room and looked at you as he said it...well, your mother was ready to show his eyeball the pointy end of her dinner knife. I would have let her too, had Uhtred not stepped in.”

I looked up at him and saw the twinkle in his eye return. We both had to chuckle at the vision of my mother tearing down the table, knife in hand. With the tension broken, we fell into silence again. I fidgeted with the sword that I still held in my hand, letting its weight give me the courage to ask what had bothered me most about the whole affair.

“What if I don’t want to be a wife? What if I want to be a shield maiden? A warrior, like you?”

My father sighed and I felt my insides contract with fear that I had disappointed him. 

“Can you not be both?” he asked gently.

“How could I be both? It’s not done.” I retorted quickly. 

My father laughed at this, a reaction that I did not expect and I forced myself to meet his eye.

“Órlaith, I do not need to see you become a wife. Nor does your mother. We only want you to be happy and cared for. Whether it be the care of a lord to whom you give your sword or a man to whom you give your heart. But you deserve love, princess. And do not tell me it isn’t done - for that has never stopped ya before!”

I said nothing, but he could tell by my lack of response that I did not believe him. 

“You can find a man who will love that warrior heart of yours, darlin’.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze and added, “That is, if you haven’t already.”

I looked up at him, confused. “I have not,” I said, and as the words left my mouth I realized that they made me sad. I realized that I wanted to believe my father and believe that one day I could have both.

He chuckled at this, although I was unsure why. However, I didn’t want to ask him. There had been enough disagreement between us that night and I could not bear any further rift. 

We finished our meal and rolled out our bed rolls by the fire. I tucked my sword under my pillow, still in disbelief that it was mine. 

“Tomorrow, we will practice your tracking skills. It’s been a while since we did that,” my father mumbled as he threw his cloak over him for extra warmth. 

I murmured agreement, smiling to myself because Sihtric had taught me far more about tracking than my father ever had. Regardless, I would relish the time with him. He had spent too much of my childhood gone on missions with Uhtred, which is why these trips had always been so precious to me. 

Thinking about my father’s life as a warrior made me think again about the life that I wanted. Could I see myself married? Did I want children? Could I marry a man and have a quiet life in the country somewhere? Could I marry a warrior and not resent him every time he went to war and I did not? Was a potentially solitary life as a warrior more preferable? Was it possible to have both?

The questions spinning through my head were unending so I decided to silence them the only way that I knew how - by counting the noises of the night around me. 

_The crackling fire. My father’s snoring. The breeze in the trees. The hoot of an owl to the East. The sound of my own breathing in the stillness. The distant sound of the surf. A voice carried on the breeze._

What was that? 

Without moving I opened my eyes and strained to hear it again. Just when I thought I had imagined it, my ears caught it - a distant shout. It may have even been a laugh? 

There were no towns for miles, and while it wasn’t unusual for other travellers to be camping in the woods my gut told me that something was amiss. 

As quietly as I could I sat up and reached for my sword. The movement woke my father - years of training had conditioned him to never sleep too soundly at camp. He looked at me in alarm but I just shook my head to silence him and pointed to my ear. He slowly sat up and we both listened. After a few agonizing moments a breeze from the south brought with it another sound that could be nothing other than human. 

My father nodded and grabbed his sword. We got up and quietly picked our way through the woods. I was grateful for the full moon that peeked through the tree canopy over our heads. It made the darkness of the trees less foreboding. As we reached the edge of the forest I could see the sea shimmering in the distance and I realized that we were approaching a rise. The trees gave way to open air my father and I both crouched, half crawling our way to the edge of the cliff, with a valley and beach spread before us. I could not help the gasp that escaped my lips as I looked down. 

In the distance at least a dozen ships were docked on the beach. Two more seemed to be coming in to land, the moon guiding them to the shore. Tents were already pitched and fires lit. Men moved between the fires and tents like ants in a colony. The sight made my skin crawl with trepidation. 

My father pointed at one of the ships and I saw a flag flying in the wind. It wasn’t until the moonlight caught it at just the right angle that I could make out the Scottish colours. 

Nudging my arm my father jerked his head back in the direction we had come and I knew that he meant we should head back to camp. We walked in silence, neither of us willing to speak until we were back around the safety of our own fire. 

Just as the glow of our fire came into view my father stopped and held an arm out. I stilled and heard what had frozen him in place. Then, I saw the shadows. Men were at our camp! I could hear them talking, their accents distinctly Scottish, although I couldn’t quite make out the words. 

My father motioned for me to get down and stay put, before walking forward with his sword raised. I did as he asked, knowing that arguing would be futile, but that did not stop me from silently unsheathing my own blade. 

It appeared that there were only two of them. Far away and to the left I could just make out the shapes of their horses. Smoke from our fire must have been seen from the camp below and they had come to investigate. 

Slowly, my father crept up on the men. They were rummaging through our things and seemed to be unaware of the Irish warrior approaching them from behind. Just as he reached the clearing a twig snapped beneath his foot. The men spun around, but my father was quicker. Within three movements he had put his sword through both of their bellies. The men hit the ground, dead, and I found myself in awe of the warrior before me. I had heard the stories but I’d never seen him in actual combat before. My father was both fearsome and beautiful in the way that he moved. 

Quickly looking around the camp and seeing no one else he whistled for me. 

I stood, but before I could take a step I felt my hair stand on end. 

“Hello there, lass,” said a deep brogue directly behind me. 

Fear wrapped itself around my heart but I did not acknowledge it. Acting on instinct I swung around, sword held high. 

The Scottish brute did not expect so swift an attack, nor did he expect me to have a sword. The blade sang in the air just before it parted his head from his shoulders. 

The corpse fell before me and I found myself unable to do anything but gawk at it. Dark eyes stared up at me from beneath red eye brows. 

I heard running behind me and swung around again, sword at the ready. 

My father stopped just short of its reach, hands in the air. His eyes darted around wildly, looking for another attacker but found no one. Deciding that we were finally alone he swung his gaze back to me. 

“Órlaith, it’s me!” he said quietly. 

I realized that my sword was still pointed at his heart. With unsteady hands, I dropped my blade and stumbled forward. He grabbed my face in his hands, almost too roughly in his panic, and looked deep into my eyes. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, every word laden with concern. His eyes temporarily left mine to take in the body behind me. 

I nodded, unable to speak as I watched him reach down and grab my blood stained sword. 

“Good. Let’s get out of here.” 

We ran, hand in hand, back to our horses. As my father checked them over I extinguished the fire and packed up anything we could not leave behind. 

I came back to the horses and was surprised when my father wrapped me in a fierce hug. It was only when pressed against the strength of his embrace that I realized how badly I was shaking. 

“You did well,” he whispered into my ear. “I am so proud of you. The first kill is always the hardest.” 

I swallowed hard against his shoulder, the sight of the headless corpse filled my mind’s eye. 

“We do not have time to talk about it now. We must alert the others that a Scottish army has landed in Northumbria. Can you ride?” I nodded into his shoulder, suddenly wanting to be far away from here. 

“That's my girl!” He kissed my forehead and pulled away from me, pressing my horse’s reins into my hand. 

Neither of us looked back as we swung into our saddles and rode into the night, towards Bebbanburg. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that's it been so long since I've updated! Life got crazy for a bit, but I am back. (famous last words). Enjoy!

We were surrounded. The Scots were everywhere, picking us off one by one. Blood ran in rivulets down my sword. I was surrounded by bodies. Cold, dead eyes stared up at me. Forcing myself to look away I searched through the chaos, looking for them. 

“Órlaith!” My father’s voice boomed across the battlefield. He was about 60 paces in front of me, holding a big brute off with his shield, but he was losing ground. I began frantically trying to pick my way through the bodies to get to him. 

“Órlaith!” another voice called from my left. I turned and saw Sten, weaponless and trying to stay out of the sword-swinging reach of a young Scot. 

“Órlaith!” choked out a voice from my right. I tore my gaze from Sten and saw Uhtred, bloody and clutching at his side. I could not see his wound but there was fear in his eye as a massive Scottish warrior charged at him. 

Panic and bile rose in my throat. I wanted to split into 3 directions at once but could not seem to get my body to move. 

I felt a shock of cold run across my forehead and down my cheek. Was I bleeding? Was the sweat pouring off of me that badly?

Before I could lift my hand to my brow or try to force my legs into action, I heard my mother’s voice.

“Órlaith!” Her words were commanding yet laced with worry. What was she doing here? Where was she? I spun around but could not see her. 

“Órlaith!” her voice said, more loudly, as if it came from the heavens itself. I felt my heart exploding in fear. 

“Órlaith!” came all of the voices simultaneously. 

I practically launched myself into a sitting positon, gasping for air and gripping at the furs on my bed as if to tether myself to reality. 

“Shhhh,” soothed my mother. She ran her cool hand over my forehead and down my cheek. “You’re safe. We’re all safe.” 

My eyes swung wildly around my room as the ghosts of bodies and dead eyes evaporated from my mind like mist. Light poured from my small window, and I could hear the rhythmic crashing of the sea beyond it. I was home, in Bebbanburg, yet a part of my body still felt like it was stuck on that battlefield.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, and my mother waited for me to calm myself, saying nothing as I tried to convince my heart to cease throwing itself against my rib cage. 

Finally, after what must have been several moments she quietly asked, “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” I said quickly, not wanting to revisit those feelings of fear and helplessness again. She nodded, pulled her hand away and began to push herself away from her perch on the edge of my bed. 

There was a practiced nature to her movements, and she accepted my refusal to talk about it too quickly. Fuzzy memories of hearing my father wake from nightmares throughout my childhood rose in my mind. He too had battles that he feared and memories which he did not wish to relive or share. My mother was always there to calm and comfort him, yet he would brush her off just as I had, not allowing her into his pain. For a moment, I wondered if my mother ever had her own nightmares. What ghosts from her past haunted her sleep? 

“Mother,” I said quickly as she reached my doorway. She paused and looked back. “Thank you,” I added quietly. 

My mother smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. She was worried about me. She had been from the moment my father had recounted to her how I had beheaded the Scot. 

“Your father would like to see you,” she said gently. “I told him that you needed at least a few hours of sleep, but perhaps it will do you good to get some sunshine and fresh air.” 

I nodded. I still felt groggy and sore from the frenzied ride the night before, but I had no desire to pursue sleep or linger in my room further. Hurriedly, I pulled on my clothes and tied my hair back. My mother was right, the mid-day sun on my face would be welcome. 

I came out into the small chamber that adjoined my room and the one that she shared with my father. She plucked a water skin and a wrapped chunk of bread from the round table at the room’s center and handed them to me. 

“Your father’s cutting wood in the forest. I am sure he will be happy to see you and even happier when he sees that you’ve brought him food.”

“Did he not sleep?” I asked. 

We had ridden through the night, arriving back at Bebbanburg just before dawn. Immediately, we summoned Uhtred, Osbert, Osferth, and Sihtric to the hall. Naturally, Aethelstan, Sten, and my mother had followed, and we had told them what we had encountered only hours before. The meeting had lasted for what felt like an eternity and I found myself falling into sleep by the fire before my mother had whisked me back to our rooms to rest. If I was tired, I could not imagine how exhausted my father must have been. 

“He slept for a couple of hours,” my mother said, shaking her head, “but it wasn’t long before he was up and grumbling about there being preparations to make and work to do. You know that unless it is at an ale house, he cannot sit still for long.” She gave me a smirk and a wink, and I could not help but chuckle. 

“Thank you,” I said, for the second time that morning as I kissed her on the cheek and ducked out the door. 

I heard my father before I saw him. He was swinging an axe at a tree he had already felled - breaking it into smaller logs and loading them onto a cart attached to a large farm horse. The metal cross around his neck glinted in the sunlight, echoing the swinging motions of his arms. When he saw me approaching he set down his axe and smiled. As my mother predicted, his grin broadened when he saw the bread and water in my hand. 

“Mother thought you might be hungry,” I said, holding it out to him. 

“I do not deserve her,” he breathed, his chest still heaving a little from the exertion of chopping wood. “I don’t deserve either of ya,” he added, pulling me closer to him to kiss my brow. 

I shooed him away to the shade of a tree so that he could eat and rest, while I picked up the axe and resumed where he left off. It felt good to move and lose myself in the mindless and repetitive motion. The sun, high in the sky, beat down through the trees, warming my back and neck. I smiled as I worked, feeling the final cobwebs of the nightmare blow away on the gentle sea breeze. 

When the last log had been tossed onto the cart, my father rose from beneath the tree.  
“Well done,” he said appreciatively, as he checked the cart over quickly. Then, he went up to the big farm horse that the cart was attached to and pulled something from its saddle. 

My breath caught in my throat a little as he held up my sword. 

“We should clean this,” he said gently, eyeing me carefully. “May I show ya?” he asked.

I nodded my head and found myself trudging back into the woods behind my father, as he led us to a stream. Kneeling at the water’s edge, he unsheathed my blade and I could see the dark red blood that marbled the metal. I could also see that small droplets had stained portions of the leather grip, and my heart mourned for its lost, untainted beauty. 

However, my father did not let me dwell on its sullied appearance. He immediately set to work, showing me how to wash away the stains and reveal the shimmering blade beneath. He carefully explained how to clean a sword on a battlefield, showing me the best types of foliage to wipe it clean with. He cautioned me about the corrosive damage that sea water can do, urging me to clean it with fresh water whenever possible. My blade was still sharp, but he showed me how to sharpen it with a stone. Carefully, he even managed to clear away most of the blood stains on the brown leather. 

“Your blade is an extension of your body,” he said as he worked. “Look after her and she will look after you.”

When he was done, she looked nearly new again. My heart sang as he handed her back to me. 

“How do you feel?” he asked, gently. 

“Like it isn’t worth talking about,” I said quickly, sheathing my sword and avoiding his eye. 

“You will not feel better until ya do,” he said gently. 

“What makes you think that I feel upset about it?” I shot back, more harshly than I meant to. 

“Because every man who has seen battle is haunted by the face of his first kill,” my father answered evenly. “You were ambushed and you beheaded a man. You are not less of a warrior for feeling shaken by that. You will, however, be a less effective fighter if you do not face what haunts ya.” 

I breathed out slowly through my nose, knowing that he was speaking the truth and not simply trying to coerce me. Forcing myself to meet his steady gaze, I said, “Is it wrong that I did not even think about it? It is as if my hand knew what it was doing before my mind did. I swung, aiming high to avoid any armour or shield. I had no hesitation before I…” My words trailed off in a whisper and I felt my cheeks flush, although I was unsure how to describe the emotion that coursed through my veins and threatened to choke me. I felt pride and gratitude that I had kept myself from harm, but also shame that I had not hesitated in taking a life. 

“Órlaith,” my father said gently, and I realized that there was a hint of a smile on his lips, “that is how it should be. You have been training since you were barely big enough to lift a wooden sword. Your body knew what to do and it saved you. Not everyone has that instinct, even with years of training. You are meant to do exactly what ya did.”

“Then why does his face haunt my dreams?” I almost whined, embarrassed to say it out loud. “How do I stop myself from seeing his cold, dark eyes every time that I close my own?”

“Forgiveness,” came a voice from the trees nearby. 

My father and I both jumped at the sound and I snapped my head towards its source, hand tensing around my blade. I relaxed immediately, however, when I saw Osferth’s cheeky grin and bald head peeking out from behind a tree about 10 feet away. He was obviously proud of himself for having snuck up on us. 

Neither my father nor I knew whether to laugh and greet him or chastise him for scaring us. Osferth saved us the choice by speaking again quickly as he emerged from his hiding place and came towards us, his limp only noticeable if you knew to look for it. 

“You must forgive yourself, Órlaith. Acknowledge that you took a life, but that you did so for the safety of yourself and those you love. There is no greater reason or act of service.”

Osferth settled himself onto a log nearby and before locking his gaze on me. With more love and compassion than I felt I deserved, he looked at me and said, “You have the heart of a warrior, Órlaith. We have all always known it. But, until you fully accept that part of yourself, and the burdens that come with it, you will become victim to your own guilt and fear.”

I stared at the ground, letting the gravity of his words weave their way into me. Osferth had taught me much over the years, but I knew that this lesson would take some time to digest and accept.

“I am loathe to say it, Baby Monk, but that may be the wisest thing you have ever said,” my father gently teased, unable to let the mood remain too serious for long. 

Osferth grinned at my father, “I cannot take credit for it, Finan. An Irishman said the same to me after the battle of Beamflot. Anything I learned about being a warrior, I learned from him.”

A look passed between Osferth and my father, a conversation spoken in memories and battle scars. A language developed over the course of half a lifetime spent together. 

We were all drawn from our thoughts when Osferth rose from his seat and said, “Finan, it is actually you who I came for. Uhtred would like to finalize some plans before you all leave tomorrow morning.”

“Has he managed to convince Osbert then?” I asked, also rising and brushing the dirt and pine needles from my legs. 

The meeting that morning had been tense. Unsurprisingly, most of the tension had been between Uhtred and his son. Osbert had insisted, screamed even, that he was not a child and that he would not be forced to wait in Bebbanburg while his elderly father rode off into battle. Sihtric and Uhtred had both tried to convince Osbert that leaving Bebbanburg undefended was a greater mistake, and that this may even be what the Scots were hoping for. Sihtric pointed out that he had left Young Sihtric, his own heir, in charge of Dunholm for this very reason. If the heir died in battle, all was lost. Aethelstan reminded them all of the siege of Winchester, and reiterated the dangers of leaving a stronghold undefended by a Lord - a risk that he knew all too well. Osbert, however, was too desperate to prove his worth to see the logic in their arguments. He’d stormed out of the hall just before my mother had ushered me off to bed. 

“He has, although he is not happy about it. He is keeping himself busy by reinforcing Bebbanburg’s walls and securing the village. He knows that you all are right, but he does not want to admit it. It is the most like his father I have ever seen him.” 

We all shared a grin before Osferth looked at my own father and continued, “When I left, he was moaning over the fact that Bebbanburg’s best warriors were leaving with you in the morning and heading South.”

“But we are not taking all the best warriors,” my father said simply. We had reached the horse and cart again and he grabbed the reins, coaxing the horse into a walk.

“I know.” Osferth answered, falling into step beside him. I doubted that either man remembered that I was there. “Aethelstand and Eadith told him as much. Many of the youngest and strongest villagers are staying behind. Lord Elfgen from the North has also offered to leave a small contingent of his soldiers behind in exchange for our protection of his lands in the future. And, of course, there will be Órlaith and Sten to help lead defences.”

My head snapped up and I felt myself blurting out, “Us?”

Both men turned and looked back at me. My father looked amused as he said, “We aren’t taking you with us because we want you here. There is no one else who Uhtred trusts more to help keep Bebbanburg safe.”

I had known that neither Sten nor I would be heading into battle, but I hadn’t expected this level of trust either. 

“You’ve proven yourself,” Osferth added, attempting to convince me of its truth. “You will do what you must to protect whom and what you love.” His words from earlier rippled through me. I imagined Bebbanburg’s walls being breached. I imagined Scots invading my home. I imagined my mother. 

“Besides,” my father said, interrupting the battle playing out in my head, “someone needs to look after the Baby Monk.” 

He did not look at the object of his teasing as he said this, which was a mistake because Osferth reached up and smacked him across the back of the head. My father only chuckled and continued to lead us back towards home. 

***  
I had always loved looking at the stars, but tonight I found that I needed them. Needed their steadying presence to remind me that the heavens were vast and beautiful. I found myself wanting to feel small - to ease the burden of what could potentially be thrust upon me in the days to come. 

I was not usually nervous before the men went off to battle. I worried for my father, to be sure. However, like the waves that crashed on Bebbanburg’s shores he always seemed to come back. 

No, tonight I was nervous because Osbert had spent most of the day interrogating Sten and I about how to properly defend the fortress. We had run through strategy after strategy, predicting every potential attack and forming a counterattack of our own. Weapons were counted and sharpened, armour polished, walls and gates tested and secured. Now, all we could do was wait. I was not good at waiting.

I deeply inhaled the cool evening air, letting it fill my lungs. The fortress was oddly quiet. Men were seeking strength or comfort from their wives, or at least women they were willing to pay to offer them the same. My own father and mother had stolen away together, as they had before each of my father’s absences throughout my childhood. I did not dwell on what they may be doing. 

Instead, I leaned against the wall of the rampart and pulled the fur I had brought with me tighter around my shoulders. This was my favourite place in all of Bebbanburg. The ocean crashed against the cliffs below me on the other side of the wall, while the night sky glittered like a bag of spilt silver, running down into the dark ocean. I could stare over the world’s edge here.

Quiet feet approached from my right along the wall walk. I turned, expecting to greet one of the evening guards, but was instead met with a grinning Sten. 

“May I join you?” he asked, looking unusually unsure of himself. The day had taken its toll on both of us. However, the glint of his smile in the moonlight made me realize how badly I wanted his company - how desperately I needed the reassurance of his steady presence. 

“Only if you brought an extra fur,” I teased. “It is freezing up here!”

His grin broadened and his dimple appeared in his left cheek. Triumphantly, he held up another fur in his hand before dividing it to reveal that he had, in fact, brought two. 

I laughed and slid down the wall into a sitting position. I patted the cold stone beside me and was glad when his warm body pressed itself against mine and he threw the extra fur over us both. I curled myself up into it, flexing my fingers in an attempt to get blood flowing into them again. 

We sat there in companionable silence for several long minutes, looking up at the sky and listening to the waves crash below. Sten and I had always approached stress similarly - both seeking out the quiet of nature when the world around us got to be too much. He, however, was better at approaching most situations with humour, whereas I was always the more serious one. 

“Do you think your father has reached Eoferwich yet?” I asked, breaking the silence and unable to completely banish the day’s strategy sessions from my mind. 

“I’m sure he has. He left immediately after the meeting this morning and he’s a fast rider. He would not let Stiora and Sigtryggr be caught unawares. He sent another one of our men to warn Lady Aethelflaed and get her to turn back. The Scots will be facing all of England before they know it.”

I nodded, glad that most of the lords who had dined in our hall only the other evening had either still been here when my father and I had nearly crashed through the gates this morning, or had only just left. The Scots would expect the lords of the land and their armies to be more scattered. 

“It was a large camp. There were many men, with more ships coming,” I said, more to myself than to Sten. This would be no ordinary battle. 

“It was the luck of the gods that you were there to see it and be able to warn us,” Sten replied confidently. He played with the hammer emblem that hung from his neck - a gift from his father. 

“It did not feel like luck in the moment,” I sighed. The vision of my father cutting down the two men around the fire played before my eyes. My arm could still feel the weight of my sword as I had swung it. Had that only been the previous evening? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“You should be proud of yourself. You fought bravely.” Sten said, nudging me with his shoulder.

“There was no bravery in it,” I scoffed. “I acted on instinct, my own father said so.”

Sten gave a low chuckle and shuffled slightly so that he faced me a bit more directly. 

“Do you remember when we were five or six back in Coccham and the blacksmith’s daughter fell into the Thames? You didn’t hesitate. You just dove in the water after her.” .

"So did you!” I exclaimed. I had nearly forgotten about the incident, I was surprised that Sten remembered it at all. 

“Only because the girl was 3 years older than you and twice your size. I thought we were all going to drown,” he said, shaking his head. In truth, we would not have made it if Aethelstan had not seen and dove in after us.

“Or, what two summers ago, when you pulled a saex on that boy in the village who tried to put a hand up your skirt? He was a full head taller than you but you didn’t hesitate.” Sten’s jaw tightened and flexed at the memory. If I had not shown the foolish merchant’s son the pointy end of my blade, Sten surely would have. 

“It just meant that I could see his throat better,” I replied with a grin. “It is also why I do not like wearing skirts.” I let him chuckle at this before I asked, “What is your point with all of this?”

Undeterred, Sten continued, “When Uhtred and our fathers came home and announced that we were moving here and leaving Coccham, you were thrilled. I, on the other hand, was devastated. I did not want to leave. It was you who convinced me that it would be a great adventure, full of new places to explore and new games to be had. You did the same when my father took Dunholm. I did not want to leave, but you were so excited for me.”

Now it was I who tensed at the memory. It was true that I had seen our move to Bebbanburg as a chance to explore the world that I so desperately wanted to see. However, Sten’s departure to Dunholm had gutted me. He and I had been inseparable since birth, and Sten had always been the one who understood me best and let me be myself. My excitement had been a show for him, to help ease his worry, and an attempt to help ease my own. I had been so lonely without him, however, and I found myself wanting to cry at the thought of him leaving again when this was all over. I stared at the stone walkway, willing the ball that had risen in my throat to settle back into my stomach.

Sten sensed my change in mood and shuffled closer until our knees touched. Taking his hand out from beneath the fur he cupped my face in his palm and forced me to meet his gaze. The directness of his gesture startled me. However, as I felt the warmth of his hand against my cheek and saw the shimmer of the evening sky reflected in his deep brown eyes, the ball that had been lodged in my throat dropped and warmth flooded me.

“You are the bravest person I have ever known, Órlaith. Your instincts have always added to your bravery - not lessened it. I am glad that we are here to protect Bebbanburg together, if it comes to that. I have been fighting at your side our whole lives, and there is nowhere I would rather be.”

 _”You will do what you must to protect whom and what you love.”_

Osferth’s words flooded my brain and I almost didn’t hear when Sten whispered, “There is no one whom I would rather die protecting.”

I stared at him, feeling the air around us change. I did not know what to say. My mind could only focus on the feeling of his thumb as it stroked my cheek, the press of his knees against my own, the face of the boy who had grown up beside me and who was no longer a boy. When had things changed between us? Had this always been here? Why had I not seen it? And, now that I did, how did I feel about it?

I do not know how long we sat like that, with my brain paralyzed by its own questions. I only know that I grieved the loss of his hand on my cheek as he slowly pulled it away, a sheepish grin on his face. He shuffled back beside me and I could not help but notice that he left more space between us than had been there previously. 

Any other thought in my head was suddenly overshadowed by the fear that I had embarrassed him or led him to feel rejected. I could not bear that. 

Quickly, I scooted over to him until our sides were barely touching. The sliver of air between us felt alive, like it does when a lightning storm is rolling in off the sea. I thought of his god, Thor, and the pendant around his neck. I wondered if his god of thunder had something to do with all of this, or perhaps the three spinners of fate that Sten had told me stories about when we were children. I had been raised a Christian but the gods of the Danes had always held magic for me, and, while I was unsure exactly what I was feeling, it certainly seemed to feel more like the magnetism of the Danish gods. 

Not allowing myself to think about what I was doing, I clasped Sten’s hand under the fur and leaned my head against his shoulder.

“I have missed you,” I breathed, hoping that it was the right thing to say. 

His body relaxed into mine and he squeezed my hand tightly. “I have missed you too,” he said, pressing a kiss into my hair. Blood rushed into my scalp to meet the place where his lips touched. I was glad that he could not see me blush in the dark, especially when he added, “every day.” 

We sat like that for awhile, leaning into each other and this new, partially acknowledged feeling between us. 

Finally, I broke the silence by asking, “What happens now?” Even as I asked it, I wasn’t sure to what I was referring. Did I mean between us? Did I mean here at Bebbanburg? Sten, however, knew exactly what to say and answered quickly. 

“We wait and see what happens,” he answered simply.

“I am not good at waiting,” I half groaned. 

He looked down at me and I could hear his smirk as he said, “Well, luckily for you, I am.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took awhile for me to hammer this one out. There is definitely some heaviness here. Grab some tissues and a cup of tea (or something stronger) and we'll get through it together.

“Are you planning on sleeping through the battle, Finan?” Aethelstan teased, throwing the two extra furs that my father had insisted on bringing onto the back of his horse. 

My father smirked and looked up at the grey, early morning sky. Not rising to the bait he answered smoothly, “Nah, but rain is comin’ and when the rest of the ya are shivering at night in your tents, I will be toasty warm and sleepin’ like a baby.” 

“I have seen you sleep on top of a galloping horse,” Osferth said, holding out the saddlebag he had helped bring from the stables. “I do not think sleeping has ever been a problem for you.” 

I laughed, took the saddlebag from Osferth and secured it to my father’s horse.

“Sleep is not a problem. Cold is,” my father shot back. 

“Ahh, yes. I’ve heard that can happen as you get older,” Aethelstan said, turning towards his own horse to hide the smile playing on the corners of his lips. I caught his eye as he turned and shook my head, even though I was thoroughly enjoying their banter. 

My father opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he saw Uhtred striding across the yard. Everyone knew that look of focus and determination, and it meant that the time for jokes was over. They would be riding out within minutes. 

With a final smack against Aethelstan’s shoulder, my father walked over to where my mother was waiting to say good-bye. She had worn one of my father’s favourite dresses, and her hair was bound around her head like a crown.

In a ritual that I had seen a hundred times, he kissed the cross that hung at her neck and she his. 

As a child I had asked my father why they did that, and he had smiled and replied, “Because I always kiss my cross right before heading into battle and say a prayer. That way the last thing to touch my lips will be your mother’s kiss.” At the time, I had made a disgusted face that had made my father laugh and ruffle my hair, but I had to admit that I enjoyed the sweetness of the gesture now. 

My parents embraced and my father whispered something in my mother’s ear that made her laugh. I looked away when he kissed her, feeling like I had intruded on their private moment for too long. 

As I looked around the yard, watching men say goodbye to their wives and children, my eyes landed on Uhtred. I was surprised when he tilted his head and beckoned me towards him. 

As I crossed the yard to meet him, I could not help but notice what an impressive and imposing sight he and his horse made. Both were dressed in their finest battle leathers. Uhtred’s hair was bound tightly back, with small beaded braids encircling his scalp. Despite the grey, early light, Serpent Breath - strapped to his back - sparkled. . His blue eyes shone and I knew that behind the stern facade was a warrior who was thrilled to be heading into battle again. 

“Is everything ready here?” he asked, and we both found ourselves scanning the ramparts and gates, as if a weakness in the fortress walls would illuminate itself for us.

“Yes, Lord,” I said assuredly, because we were ready. Every weapon had been counted and put into place. Gates had been secured and strengthened. Village men had been brought within the fortress walls and trained. Every point of attack had been planned for. If the Scots stormed Bebbanburg, it would be them who would be caught by surprise, not us. 

Uhtred’s face broke out into his familiar grin. “Good,” he said, pulling me into a tight hug. 

“Take care of our home,” he whispered in my ear. When he pulled back his eyes were looking to the ramparts. I followed his gaze to find Osbert looking down at us. Uhtred’s youngest son gave us a quick nod before turning and barking orders at the men posted by the main gate. 

“Make sure he let’s me back in,” Uhtred muttered under his breath, before giving me a cheeky grin and mounting his horse. 

I heard footsteps behind me and knew by their gait that it was Sten.

“Lord,” he greeted Uhtred, before more quietly adding, “Órlaith.” 

There was a gentleness to the way he said my name. Had he always said it like that? I was still feeling off balance from the night before.

When I had finally said goodnight to Sten I had felt like a spooked deer. The air and every nerve in my body had felt alive, yet I was also paralyzed by indecision. Should I have kissed him? There would be no going back to the friendship of our childhood once that line was crossed. Even now, I did not know if I could go back. There was no way to unsee how he had looked at me last night or forget the fire that had coursed through my veins as his hand held mine. 

“Look after her, Sten,” Uhtred said in his commanding tone. My eyes shot up, taken aback by his directness before realizing that the “her” he spoke of was Bebbanburg. Or, at least, I think that is what he meant. I could not be sure due to the smirk on his face as he looked down at us both from the back of his steed. 

The great gate began to creak open and I realized that I had yet to say good-bye to my father. With a nod to Uhtred, I turned back towards my father’s horse, offering Sten a quick smile as I did so. I ignored Uhtred’s chuckle behind me as I retreated. 

Picking up my father’s shield from where it leaned against the wall, I let its weight ground me. I rested my free hand on the pommel of my sword. Together, they brought me back to myself and I relished their familiarity.

Despite his salty banter with the men earlier, I knew that my father was excited to be riding out today. Bebbanburg and its allies had been at peace for several years, and after a lifetime of going from one battle to the next, my father had been restless within the fortress’ walls. As I approached I could not help but notice how his fingers danced over his horse’s saddle - checking buckles and ties. His horse shifted restlessly, picking up on my father’s energy and excitement. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I asked, coming up behind him. 

Turning around, he chuckled when he saw me holding his shield. “I could not forget my good luck charm!”

He took it from me and I smiled as he let his finger graze the carving I had made in its back when I was about 5 years old. Osferth had begun teaching me my letters and I had carved an O for my name into nearly everything I could find. It wasn’t until after I had defaced my father’s shield that I had realized how angry he would likely be; he was so protective of his battle gear. 

However, he’d only laughed and told me that now he would be able to take me with him into every battle. 

After strapping his shield to his horse, I expected him to ask about our preparedness at Bebbanburg, but instead he just pulled me into a great hug. 

“You are ready,” he whispered into my ear. The way that he said it as a statement, not a question, chased away any lingering doubts lurking in my heart. He was right - just as Bebbanburg was ready for battle, so was I. 

He kissed my forehead and swung up into his saddle. 

“Take care of each other,” he said, looking between my mother and I, as she came to stand next to me.  
With a sharp whistle, Uhtred spurred his horse towards the open gate. Horses whinnied and neighed as warriors pulled themselves into their saddles.

With a wink at us both, my father turned his horse and followed after his lord. 

Aethelstan rode close behind, nodding at both my mother and I as he passed.

“Fight well,” my mother called after him, and he raised his hand in acknowledgement. My mother had never had a son, but she had once told me that Aethelstan and Sten were the closest she had ever come, and that watching them ride out had always pained her. She hid her worry well, after years of watching the men she loved head off into danger, but I knew that it was there. I wondered how she would feel if I ever rode into battle.

Looping her arm through mine, we watched as the rest of the men stormed out of the yard and into the drizzly morning. Even though my responsibility at Bebbanburg was great, I could not help but wish that I was heading out with them. 

=============

“Remind me what the purpose of this is again, Osferth?” Sten grumbled, looking with disdain at the small pile of vellum sheep skin and ink jars on the table before us. 

“To continue to torture you,” Osferth answered quickly and without a hint of sarcasm, before continuing, “and to help me get caught up on the record keeping that I have been neglecting. Besides, it is not as though there is anything else that you could be doing today.” 

It was true that there was nowhere else we had to be. We had checked the defences so many times in the three days since Bebbanburg’s men had ridden out that even the guards were annoyed with us. And, as my father had predicted, rain had come. It had been steadily pouring and every inch of Bebbanburg had felt damp and dripping. Osferth’s rooms, deep within the fortress, were one of the few places that felt warm and dry. 

However, the logic of the monk’s argument was lost on Sten. Like an overgrown child, he slumped onto the stool across from me and pouted. 

I offered Sten a half smile of sympathy, but I could not join him in his unhappiness. My father had insisted at a young age that I learn my letters - both how to read and write them. I had temporarily fought against it when I was about ten years old, making the argument that a warrior - which I _was_ going to be - did not need to read or write. However, he had pointed out that being able to read and write himself had given him an advantage many times when lords had not expected it of him and left correspondence or written plans out for him to see. 

“As both a woman and a warrior, no one will expect ya to know yer letters,” he’d argued. “Fighting is not the only skill that will give ya power. Being able to read will be one of the greatest powers you will ever possess, Princess.”

As I stood there, allowing my fingers to run across the smooth vellum skins, I could not help but feel that it was actually the written word that held a power over me. Spoken words were fleeting and quickly forgotten, but written records, like those of the Holy Book, could endure. It amazed me that small symbols scratched in ink could have a lasting impact on this world when so many people, myself included, would eventually just fade away and be forgotten. The thought made me shudder, and I quickly pulled my hand back from the writing materials and sat on my own stool. Sten shot me a curious look, head tilted to the side like a puppy. His lips were still pursed together into a sort of pout that was both amusing and incredibly distracting. Ignoring the question in his eyes I looked back towards Osferth, who was at the head of the table.

“What sort of records are we doing today?” I asked. I had helped Osferth with this task before, and had to admit that it was not the most riveting. Yet, I hoped that it would keep my hands busy and my mind clear. 

“Recording what has been collected from local farmers for our winter stores,” Osferth answered, handing me a quill and a piece of vellum, “and the names of those who have passed into the hands of our Lord and been buried in Bebbanburg’s graveyard.” He handed Sten another set of writing materials as he finished. 

Sten groaned. “You will have to count my name among them by the time we are done.”

I tried to stifle the laugh that rose in my throat, but it came out as a sort of snort, which was ultimately worse. Sten looked pleased that his joke had had this effect, while Osferth tilted his head at me and darted his eyes between Sten and I, before raising an eyebrow. 

Ignoring the blush that crept up my cheeks, I got us on track and to work. For the next half hour or so we methodically recorded names, dates, and transactions, and I let myself get lost in the continuous motion of moving between the ink and parchment. 

I was so focused on my task that I almost didn’t hear the horn. It was Sten snapping his head up that got my attention. We all stopped and listened before hearing it blow a second time. 

“That’s from the main gate,” I said, standing up so quickly that my stool toppled to the ground behind me. 

Sten was instantly on his feet and we quickly sprinted out of Osferth’s chamber and down the corridor to the yard. 

I bounded up the rain soaked stairs that led to the gate’s rampart, taking them two at a time. 

“What is it?” I barked at the guard closest to me.

“Two riders,” he answered, pointing through the timber fence and towards the horizon. 

Indeed, two riders, hoods pulled down low against the rain, were galloping for the gate. The grey light and drizzle made it hard to make out anything more than their shape. As they got closer, it was Sten who recognized them first. 

“That is my father’s horse,” he said, “and Aethelstan’s behind him, I think.” 

As soon as he said it, I knew he was right. Both Sihtric and Aethelstan had always favoured dark coloured horses, for they were less easy to spot when scouting. 

“Have they come to warn us? Perhaps the Scots are behind them.” The question made me feel ill, for that would mean that our mass of armies had failed. 

“Perhaps,” Sten answered cautiously, his lips pressed together in a firm line that told me that he shared my worry. 

Aethelstan and Sihtric threw off their hoods as they drew closer, looking through the rain and up towards the ramparts so that the guards could see them. 

One of the guards looked at me and I quickly gave him a nod, signalling him to open the gates for them. 

They thundered into the yard, spraying up mud as they pulled their horses to a halt. Both men dismounted quickly and I was surprised to see Aethelstan immediately head off for Osbert’s chambers.

I ran back down the stairs, with Sten close behind me. 

“Sihtric, what is it?” I shouted.

Sihtric turned briefly to look at me. There was a set determination in his face that I hadn’t seen in the past. Before I could try to decipher it further, he turned away and quickly looked at Osferth, who had made his way to the yard by now. 

“Órlaith, Sten, wait!” Osferth called. There was a commanding tone in his voice that I would typically heed but something within me told me to keep following Sihtric. I needed to know what had happened. Were we in danger? What was Aethelstan telling Osbert?

I was surprised to see that the person Sihtric was briskly walking towards was my mother. She stood just under an overhang, looking dry and radiant in comparison to the rest of us who were soaked through. A torch stuck into a sconce beside her illuminated her copper hair and made it look aflame. 

I reached her side just as Sihtric came to stand before her. 

My mother spoke before I could ask my question again. “Sihtric, what has happened? Tell us everything.” Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that I did not recognize. Sihtric stood up straight, rain dripping down his long, dark hair. I noticed a fresh cut above his eye that reached into his hairline, and a faint bruise forming along his jaw. He was the same warrior that I had always known but there was a veil behind his eyes that had not been there before - a shroud preventing me from truly reading his thoughts. 

“The battle has been bloody. I think that all the men in Scotland came down. We outnumbered them, but barely,” Sihtric began, never taking his eyes off of my mother. “They fought like wild dogs, and it was near impossible to surround or contain them. All sides have lost many men,” he said gravely. 

I thought of the Record of the Dead in Osferth’s chambers, the ink on its pages not yet dry, and wondered how many more names would be added in the coming days. 

“One of the Scottish warlords, a big brute, made to attack Aethelflaed. He was screaming words I will not repeat about her ladyship and threatening to take her head back to Scotland. He plowed through her guard like they were nothing.”

 _“No, no, no, no, no”_ I thought. Lady Aethelflaed could not be dead. She had led Mercia through so much. She could not fall - not like this. 

My mother tensed beside me, and I knew that she too shared my fear. 

“She would have met that fate had Uhtred fought to save her. I was down the battlefield, with Sigtryggr’s men, but I heard her armies cheer as Uhtred attacked.”

And I could see it in my mind’s eye - Uhtred taking on a giant twice his size and meeting him blow for blow. 

“He fought bravely and cut the bastard down, but as he turned to make sure that the Lady was safe, the coward rammed his sword up beneath Uhtred’s armour.”

Sihtric’s voice caught in his throat, only for a moment, but I felt everything in the world slow as I tried to comprehend what he was saying. 

“He died with his sword in his hand. He is in Valhalla now,” Sihtric said this so gently, yet it still grated against the emotions coursing through me. 

I looked up at the fortress around us - at the home that Uhtred had fought for for so long. That must be why Aethelstan had gone to Osbert’s chambers. Osbert would be Lord of Bebbanburg now. 

My heart seized for a moment as I realized how devastated my father must be. They had been brothers, sharing a bond that went far beyond that of lord and oathman. I could not imagine his grief.

“Finan?” my mother whispered, so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the rain beating against the walls. 

Sihtric looked down then, stared at his hands and continued. 

“The death of their warrior shook the Scots and their king swore vengeance. I was running to be at Uhtred’s side but his death inspired a frenzy in the Scots that was near impossible to fight through. The king and his son, his heir, rode down upon the Mercian army. I was fighting to get through. It was like swimming against the tide. I just couldn’t…”

Wordlessly, my mother reached out and put her hand on his arm. I thought of my dream. I knew how Sihtric must have felt. I knew that fear and panic - that helplessness. 

It was then that I noticed that Sihtric clutching something that he was focusing on. A talisman, perhaps. He squeezed the talisman and took a steadying breath before continuing.

“When I could see past the bodies, I saw Finan there. He was standing over Uhtred and slicing down Scots like they were weeds. In all of our years fighting together I have never seen him fight like that, with that fury. It was the greatest I have ever seen him fight.” Sihtric half smiled as he said this and then continued. “The Scottish king charged at him and they clashed swords for a while, but he was no match for Finan. I did not see the death blow but I heard the silence that took over the Scots as their king collapsed into the mud.”

Pride swelled in my chest. My father had single handedly killed the Scottish king. That would be a blow that they would struggle to recover from. Uhtred would have been so proud. 

“His son, the prince, came at Finan to avenge his father. I finally broke through the mass of armies and was able to reach Finan’s side. The prince was swinging wildly at us but he was sloppy. Together, we brought him down too.”

My mother exhaled a breath she had been holding and I found myself smiling. No doubt the cost would be great, but the loss of a king, his heir, and one of Scotland’s great warriors would be hard to overcome. 

My heart leapt when Sihtric said, “The Scots retreated after that. Sigtryggr’s men cut many of them down as they fled back to their boats. They will not trouble our lands again for some time.”

We had been victorious! Surely this would be a battle that men would talk about for generations, and _our_ fathers had turned its tides. I found myself looking for Sten, wondering if he understood the enormity of what Sihtric had just told my mother and I. 

I saw him standing beside Osferth and Aethelstan, who had returned from giving Osbert the news of his father’s passing. They all looked solemnly at us. Sten’s jaw was set and I could tell that he did not want to be standing there, but Osferth had his hand on Sten’s arm and was holding him back. 

Confused, I looked to Sihtric, who was still looking at his hands. My mother still gripped his arm, and he brought one hand up to rest on hers, while his other continued to play with the talisman. Gold shone from between his fingers in the torchlight, which was odd because most Danish talismans were made of bone or stone. 

Finally, Sihtric looked up and his eyes shone as he looked between my mother and I. My mother stilled beside me, and I felt like I could no longer breathe, although I did not understand why. 

“I do not know what happened,” Sihtric said haltingly. “The prince fell and when I looked back, Finan was on his knees beside Uhtred. I thought that he was praying, but as the Scots retreated I realized that he had been hit.”

I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me. My mother grabbed my hand to steady us both. Blood roared through my ears and I could no longer hear everything Sihtric said. 

_“I do not know when...He did not seem to be in any pain...He spoke of you both....tell you myself....he loved you…I am sorry...should have been there…”_

My mother was saying something, trying to soothe Sihtric, but I couldn’t focus on her voice. I could only stare, trying to comprehend what he had said. 

My father was gone. The words themselves were empty and meaningless. It did not seem possible. 

“Órlaith.” Sihtric had said it quietly but the sound of my name made me jump. “Your father took this from his neck and bade me give it to you. He kissed it and prayed that it would keep you safe in your own battles.”

In his outstretched hand was my father’s gold cross. The necklace that, throughout my entire life, I had never seen him without. It had always been an extension of his body. But it was not on him anymore, because _he_ was not here anymore. 

All of a sudden, it was all too loud. The sound of the torch crackling, the rain hitting the walls, my mother’s quiet sobs, the sorrow pooling in Sihtric’s eyes, the clink of my father’s cross against his rings, the sound of my heart struggling to beat as grief coursed through my veins. It was all too loud. 

So, I ran. I ran because I could no longer bear to hear it or see it. 

I did not see Aethelstan come to my mother’s side and embrace her as she finally caved into her sorrow. I did not see the men on the ramparts bow their heads and raise their swords in silent tribute to Uhtred, my father, and the lost men of Bebbanburg. No one saw the Danish warrior who quietly went into a darkened corridor and sank to his knees in grief, or the monk who knelt beside him. 

===========

I ran through the yard and up the back steps to the rampart walls that overlooked the sea. Tears ran in hot rivers down my cheeks, only to be washed away by the freezing rain. I hurled stones, leaves, anything that I could find, over the walls and into the angry waves below. I cursed into the wind. I threw myself against the walls, and the waves threw themselves against the cliffs below, meeting me in my grief. I let the crashing of the waves drown out every other sound and feeling. 

Two hands pulled me away from the wall and two arms wrapped themselves around me. I crashed into Sten, sobbing and muttering words that didn’t make sense, even to my own ears.  
He held me fast and simply whispered, “I know. I’m here. I am so sorry, Órlaith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust that that hurt me so much to write. I promise, the light is coming.


	6. A note from me

Hi TLK loves,

I just wanted to write a quick note to say that I am taking a hiatus from this piece for a bit. I have a lot of heavy stuff going on (I'm ok - just too many things taking up time and mental energy). I'm only writing this note to let you know because, if anyone is still following this story, I realize that I left it off in the worst possible place! This definitely isn't where I want Órlaith's story to end, and I'm hoping that I'll be able to come back and finish it off soon. 

I'll still be checking in and reading all of your awesome work as often as I can because you're all too bloody talented for me to stay away completely. 

Take care of yourselves! 

X


End file.
